


Baby, I'm An Animal (But You Can Have A Taste)

by dahhhmer



Category: Historical Criminals RPF, Serial Killers - Fandom, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Drug Use, F/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahhhmer/pseuds/dahhhmer
Summary: Richie Ramirez is not nice. Flattering at best, objectifying at worst, charming regardless; but never nice.You don't like nice. You never have.
Relationships: Richard Ramirez/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Baby, I'm An Animal (But You Can Have A Taste)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd try my hand at branching out into self-insert fic. This one was born out of pure spite, though.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Titled after Bathroom Bitch by HOLYCHILD.

Richie Ramirez is a lot of things.

He's funny and charming, but he's not nice. That's one of the things that drew you to him in the beginning, if truth be told; the way he reeled you in without ever once saying anything genuinely _kind_ to you. Flattering at best, objectifying at worst, charming regardless; but never nice.

You don't like nice. You never have.

When he asks you out, it's more of a proposition than a date, but you accept all the same. He seems more interesting than most of the guys around here, anyway. Wittier, funnier, better-looking. And his first words to you weren't a catcall. That automatically makes him the best option you've had in a while.

Richie picks you up that Saturday about an hour after work, which gives you just enough time to shower, do your makeup, and throw on a dress — something nice, but just slutty enough to be eye-catching. The car he arrives in is way too nice to be his, but you say nothing; there are worse things a man can be than a car thief, after all.

He takes you to a dive bar in LA, somewhere that plays heavy metal and has walls papered in posters advertising rock concerts long-passed. You've never been here before, but you like the atmosphere — the first thing Richie ever said to you was that he liked your Iron Maiden T-shirt — and the drinks are strong.

That last part is probably why you agree when Richie asks if you want to go to the bathroom with him for a bump. Whatever, it's not like you've never done coke before.

After you've each snorted a line, Richie presses you back against the locked door of the bathroom stall you're in. He kisses your neck, pressing a knee between your legs, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes you're not wearing panties under your dress.

"Slut," he says, accompanied by a quiet laugh. It doesn't feel like an insult. You rock down against him in lieu of a response; he shoves your skirt up around your waist and slides two fingers into you at once. The stretch is easy, given the way you've been dripping for at least the last ten minutes. You grip his shoulder tightly, biting back a moan, and he starts to fuck you with his fingers in earnest. Outside the bathroom, you hear the opening notes to Master of Puppets as Richie starts to undo his jeans one-handed.

He pulls out his fingers and lifts you, which makes you squeak and giggle with surprise. One of your hands grips the top edge of the door; the other one wraps around Richie's neck. He lines himself up with your entrance before you can even think of suggesting a condom, but his cock feels so _big_ against your cunt that you forget the matter entirely. When he pushes in, there's certainly more of a stretch than there had been with just his fingers, but you don't mind. You moan, fingers tangling into his hair and pulling his face forward into your breasts.

Richie pins you against the stall wall with his weight, lifting one hand to push down the straps of your dress to get at your tits. He pushes the cups of your bra out of the way, too, getting his mouth around a nipple as he finally starts to thrust up into you. The angle can't be comfortable, but he's not complaining. You wrap your legs around his waist and rock down into each thrust. You don't know if you're making a lot of noise — you probably are, but all you can focus on is his hot mouth as it moves from one nipple to the other. All you can focus on is the feeling of his thick cock deep inside you.

You feel everything with the crystal clarity coke always gives you, but you're still not sure how long it lasts. It could be minutes, but it could easily also be an hour. You sink your nails into the back of his neck and arch into his mouth; Richie grips your hips tight, bruising, driving up into you hard and fast.

You come first, miracle of miracles. You clench tight around his cock and moan, low and loud, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He doesn't slow or stop, and you ride it out without complaint, though you're already starting to feel a little sore and oversensitive. You feel him come inside you a minute or two later; it's filthy and disgusting, and you should be upset about it, but something about the sensation just makes your insides twist with a late stab of arousal.

Richie pulls out and sets you down carefully, giving you a few minutes to just stand there and lean against him while you get your bearings. He's surprisingly gentle with you, even helping you slide the straps of your dress back up onto your shoulders and smooth down the skirt of your dress.

"I need to, uh..." You gesture vaguely to the toilet behind him. He maneuvers himself out of your way, but before he can step out of the stall, you catch his arm. "Wait for me, yeah? I wanna go home with you."

"Of course." Richie smiles, leaning in to kiss you again. It's filthy and deep, though it only lasts a few seconds. Then he turns to go, leaving you in the stall to clean yourself up.

Maybe he's not nice, but he has a nice dick and knows how to make you come. You think you'll keep him around for a while.


End file.
